Perhaps Love
by SincerelySeverus
Summary: The war has ended. All that died in the book, have died here. Hermione and George find solace in each other. Rated for later chapters
1. Prologue

**Author's Note: I am not, and nor will I ever be, J.K Rowling.**

Hermione stood quietly, staring into the depths of the inky lake ahead of her. Her wand hung, limp and forgotten, in a blood-stained hand by her side as she watched the sickly reflection of Hogwarts shudder across the gentle waters.

"Hermione?" asked a soft voice from behind her. Without a word she turned to face the visitor, her brown eyes dull in the gentle moonlight.

"Merlin..." whispered George as he stepped forward.

"Hello George," murmured Hermione, her wand slipping from her fingers as a huge sob wracked her body. Tears slid down her grimy face, leaving soft silver trails on her skin as another sob shook her thin frame.

"Come here," muttered George softly, ignoring his own tears as he pulled her into a gentle hug. She smelt of blood and dirt and _pain_, but it was nothing compared to the faint stickiness of her tears against his chest.

After a long moment Hermione stepped back and dried her tears on her sleeve, sniffing quietly as George watched her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her lips quivering softly as she spoke. "I should go."

"Please don't..." George hung his head, dark lashes obscuring his shame-filled eyes. Who was he to beg, when she had been through just as much? _No one_, he thought bitterly as Hermione gave a jerky nod and sunk to her knees, unaware of the thick layer of ash coating the grass.

Morning found them sprawled untidily beneath the old willow tree, their limbs tangled in an awkward dance of warmth and comfort. A thin layer of dew coated their bodies, clinging to eyelashes and fingernails as the sun fought to rise beyond the layer of smog hanging just above the treeline.

George was the first to wake, his red hair tousled and adorned with a myriad of leaves and plaster-flakes. Yawning, he shifted Hermione into the crook of his arm and arched his back, trying and failing to relieve the tense muscles there. As he fell back into a lazy, one-sided stretch Hermione stirred, her eyes opening slowly, cautiously.

"I feel disgusting..." groaned Hermione as she attempted to run a grimy hand through her knotted hair. After a moment she gave up and fell backwards onto the grass, brown eyes staring up into the thick layer of _grey_ above her.

"Do you think we could stay right here and pretend that everything is alright beyond the clouds?" asked Hermione quietly, lashes brushing her cheeks as she forced away tears.

"No," whispered George softly, cerulean eyes lifting to stare up into the seemingly _infinite_ bank of grey to avoid just how much he wanted to _lie_ and tell her yes.

"I know," sighed Hermione, tears running wild down her cheeks as her lashes gave way. George sat silently beside her, listening to the sound of her tears as her dreams of _never-never land_ vanished into the air between them.

When her tears dried the sun was high in the sky, shining molten-brown through the cloud of impenetrable _grey_ that danced above their heads. Her cheeks had swollen, creating dimples by her mouth where the salt pooled with promises to be there later, _just in case_.

"I'm sorry," said George softly, his voice echoing in the sudden silence.

"For what?"

"All of this," replied George, his voice falling to a whisper. _And I am,_ he thought. _So very, very sorry._

"It isn't your fault, this began long before we did. We were just here for the end," said Hermione with a sad smile, her hand coming to rest lightly on his with a flesh-whisper of: _I don't blame you_. Her fingers were cold with old tears and dew, but he slid his between them anyway, seeking the sort of comfort you can't get without brushing skin-on-skin.

"I know," he whispered, and in that moment, _he did_.


	2. Chapter One

As the clouds hid behind the trees, Hermione sat crouched over the pale form of Remus Lupin. Tears welled in her eyes, but did not fall as she reached down to cradle his scarred hand in a gentle grip.

"Don't worry, Harry will look after Teddy. I promise," she whispered, ignoring the fact that Remus was dead and could not hear a word she was saying. Instead she focussed on the gentle, moon-white scars that raked his pale hand-flesh. "Say hello to Sirius for us, especially Harry. He misses him, you know? Always will, of course. Goodbye, Professor."

"This is sweet of you. Talking to them," said a low voice from the shadows. "Do you think they can hear you? Wherever they are, I mean?"

"I don't know," replied Hermione softly as she pulled a sheet over Remus. "But I like to think so. It would make it easier, I think, knowing that people will look after those you left behind."

George smiled sadly and helped Hermione to her feet. Her hand was cold and with a sudden jolt he realised it had been the one resting in Remus' palm. Tears filled his eyes and Hermione allowed her hand to fall away.

"I'm going to say goodbye to Fred," she whispered, a message evident in her tone. It said softly, simply: _It's okay. I know you're afraid._

"Thank you," said George as she walked away, and as she knelt beside another shroud, he realised that he had no idea what he was thanking her for.

Hermione was still sitting beside Fred when the daylight disappeared and shadows had grown large between fallen columns of stone. His pale, freckled hand was clutched in hers and it felt strangely like tears.

"What will he do without you, Fred? He's lost already," said Hermione, her words little more than a whimper as she reached down to brush fiery red hair from a cool forehead. "He's afraid to say goodbye, we all are. Because if we say it, you'll be gone forever."

Tears came then, washing the grime from her face as she whispered the best goodbye she could manage. It was filled with sobs and shaky promises, but it was enough to allow her to relinquish his hand, her tears drawing the starch from the sheet she wrapped around him.

After a long moment she turned and walked away, ignoring the blood on her hands and the tears on her cheeks. She had given him all she could.

The first night back at the Burrow was silent, the scent of tears running wild through the old house long after the lights had gone out.

Hermione sat perched precariously on an up-turned pot in the garden, sucking in lungfuls of air in an attempt to forget the metallic scent of blood and flame and _loss_. Rain had plastered her hair to her face and had begun to run in rivers over her clavicle, a body part that she had forgotten she possessed as she stared out into the darkness with fear-tainted eyes. Her world had become a flurry of rain and memories so loud that she didn't hear the blood running off her fingers into the dirt, screaming '_I am a memory, you cannot forget me!'_ And when Harry found her the next morning, her lips were blue to the bone and swollen with a pain she couldn't remember feeling.

"Are you alright dear?" asked Molly, her hands fluttering around Hermione in a manner that would have been comical, had Hermione been just a little less _frozen_.

"What happened?" asked a bleary-eyed Ron as he stumbled into the tiny kitchen, his eyes grazing across Hermione before landing on a bowl of soup close to her elbow which he immediately reached for. "Soup for breakfast? Different."

"Don't you _dare_ touch that bowl Ronald Bilius, or I will have your head. That's for Hermione," said Molly, her usually gentle eyes hardening as she glared at her son. Ron quickly withdrew his hands and peered closely at Hermione, his mouth slackening as he took in her bedraggled appearance.

"Merlin Mum! Do something! The soup!" he shrieked, hurriedly pushing a spoon into Molly's hand.

"I'm _trying_ Ronald!" snapped Molly, her eyes glinting angrily. Ron opened his mouth to utter a retort but was quickly cut off by a new voice.

"Shut up, both of you. Can't you see that you aren't helping her?" snarled George quietly, his blue eyes sharp beneath a frown. Molly and Ron fell silent, their heads dropping slightly as his words sunk in.

"Come on George...They mean well," said Harry softly, green eyes pleading behind taped glasses. George gave a curt nod.

"I'm taking her upstairs. She'll need dry clothes and _rest_," said George, emphasising the last word as he gently plucked Hermione from the damp chair. Shame filled the air with it's heavy scent as he walked away, half-hidden by his anger.


	3. Chapter Two

With tired, red-rimmed eyes Molly surveyed the magically-lengthened dining table in front of her. A cream tablecloth hid the various dents and scratches it had received over the years, providing a gentle cushioning for the chipped plates and gnarled cutlery laid out amid steaming platters of food. With a quick glance she realised that there were three empty seats and began mentally checking off their missing occupants. One, Hermione - _upstairs in bed_. Two, George - _upstairs watching over Hermione_. Three, Fred - _gone. _

"Molly? Love?" whispered Arthur, startling Molly out of her silent reverie.

"Sorry dear. I was just wondering why there were so many spaces," replied Molly as she fought back the tears that threatened to spill over her lashes. Arthur smiled sadly and rested his hand over hers, feeding her a strength she no longer possessed.

"Thank you," whispered Molly just as George stepped up to the table, his blue eyes half hidden by shaggy red hair.

"George," said Harry softly, indicating the empty chair beside him. George simply shook his head and glanced back to the house.

"Just came to get Hermione some dinner," said George, his voice oddly hollow as he began filling a plate.

"How is she?" asked Harry, green eyes smouldering with fierce concern and love.

"Quiet," replied George before turning to his mother, a teetering pile of food stacked carefully on the plate. "Sorry Mum."

"It's alright dear," whispered Molly, a sad smile on her lips as she watched her son walk away. And in that moment Molly realised that maybe, just _maybe_, her son needed the quiet bookish girl lying curled in his bed more than he knew.

"Thank you," whispered Hermione, her brown eyes softening for the first time in days. George shrugged and seated himself on the end of the rumpled bed, his eyes closing in one fluid motion. Beside him, Hermione sighed and curled herself around the pillow. This had happened each time she tried to thank him or acknowledge his assistance, and frankly, it was beginning to bother her.

"I'll move back into Ginny's room tonight," she stated softly, deliberately keeping her voice free from emotion. Silence greeted her words once more and in a moment of fury she sat up and pelted the pillow at George's face.

"What the hell, Hermione?" spluttered George as he righted himself. Hermione glared at him, her tangled her creating a vivid halo around her face.

"Oh, did I _finally_ get your attention? Good," snapped Hermione as she stepped away from the bed. "Thank you for loaning me a sweater and helping me. You didn't have to do that and I am very grateful, but I cannot stand this anymore. You don't _talk_, you barely even acknowledge that I'm here. I know that this is hard. I _know_ George, because you aren't the only one that lost someone. I haven't seen my parents in _months_ and there is no way I'll ever find them again, but none of that is registering is it?"

George stared silently at the irate girl in front of him. Her hair was wildly tangled and a baggy sweater hung off her slim frame, the cuffs frayed and torn around her wrists. She was livid and hurting and _beautiful_, and so very very right.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered as suddenly, his chewed fingernails became _extremely_ interesting through the haze of shame clouding his eyes. Hermione deflated slightly at his words, tears pricking at her eyes as she gave a mighty sniff.

"I know. I've lost my _entire_ family George and while that doesn't exactly come close to losing a twin, I understand that you're _hurting_."

George continued to stare unseeingly at his nails, his eyes brimming with tears as Hermione's words washed over him. Not only had she mentioned Fred, she had also confessed to losing her entire family. George felt sick to the stomach with shame as he looked up at the frazzled girl, the words _entire family_ echoing in his mind.

"It's alright. I'll just go," sighed Hermione, several stray tears making a quick escape as she turned toward the door. But before she could wrap her fingers around the handle George had thrown himself from the bed and pinned her to the wall in a bone-crushing hug.

"_I'msososorryHermione,_" muttered George, his words slightly muffled. Hermione realised with a start that he had buried his face in her hair, then realised just as quickly that she _did not mind_.

"Okay," whispered Hermione, her cheek brushing against the soft material of his sweater as she wriggled her arms around his waist. George snuffled softly, his tears falling into her hair as she pulled him tight against her. The embrace said simply: _I am here and I will not let you go_, and after all that had happened, it was that simple hug that broke his heart.

Molly walked in then, her arms full of warm washing. Neither of them saw her through the haze of old jumpers, tangled hair and tears. Had they seen her it would not have mattered in the slightest, because at that very moment, there was nothing more to the world than their shared pain. So with a silent sob of her own, Molly turned around and left the way she had come, the door closing before anyone even realised it was open. And as the door _clicked_ shut in that final way all doors have, Molly shed a tear for her son and the girl she had come to think of as a daughter.


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

The funeral came and went so quickly that nobody was very sure that they had actually _attended_. The week following it passed in a daze of silence and grief. Everyone busied themselves with tasks that were both meaningless and useless. Ginny cried endlessly into Harry's robes and Molly dabbed at her eyes with handkerchiefs that resembled rags while forgotten cauldron cakes burnt in the oven. Arthur shut himself in the shed behind the chook pen, where the distinctive sound of clanging metal could be heard day and night. Bill and Fluer returned to work, their tear-filled eyes meeting over stacks of parchment that they had been assigned during this _difficult time_. Charlie went back to Romania and earnt himself a nasty burn along his spine, which only served to heighten the grief boiling in the pit of his stomach. Percy took over the joke shop and came home with his eyes glazed and hands shaking. Ron buried himself in worn pajamas and mountains of food that did nothing but tighten the wasitband of his jeans. And all the while, George and Hermione lay staring at a ceiling they could no longer see past the tears swimming in their eyes.

"Silly owl. How many times have I told you to - Oh!" exclaimed Molly as she turned to find six sleek barn owls perched on the kitchen table. The largest hopped forward and extended it's leg for Molly to remove the letter that had been attached with silver ribbon.

"Well now, who is this for?" mused Molly as she flipped the letter over, revealing the name written on the envelope: _Hermione J Granger. _Before Molly could call out for Hermione though, another owl hopped forward and soon enough, she had a letter for six of her children sitting in a tidy pile in front of her. With a puzzled frown Molly watched the owls swoop out the window and disappear into the early, Sunday morning clouds.

"_BREAKFAST!_" she shouted despite the lack of food on the table, fully aware that it would be the only thing to rouse her sons from their beds. Sure enough, six sets of feet could immediately be heard tramping down the rickety stairs that led to the kitchen. Ron was the first to arrive and with a disgusted glance at the table he rounded on his mother.

"I thought you said there was breakfast!" he accused as everyone took a seat.

"I lied," stated Molly softly as she began handing out the letters. "There seems to be one for each of you."

The sound of tearing parchment filled the room for a long moment and then silence beat even the softest rustlings down into nothingness and all was quiet. Ron turned a sickly white, his mouth flapping open like a fish. Soon enough, cries of outrage filled the room.

_"Marriage Law! Bloody idiots...!"_

_"Already got our matches they say!"_

_"No way out they reckon!"_

_"Merlin's saggy left - !"_

"Enough. All of you," whispered Hermione from beside George. He had his letter held tightly in his fist, knuckles white with the force of his grip. When all had fallen silent Hermione stood and handed Molly her letter.

"Given the level of loss sustained during the war, the Ministry feels it necessary to implement a marriage law. The letter says that everyone over the age of seventeen is required to marry their allocated spouse by the end of September. We're about to head into June, which means there is roughly four months to do so. We've each been given the name of our match," explained Hermione, her words more for Molly than anyone else. For a long moment nobody spoke or even moved and the air was as thick as butter with the scent of shock and unmoved bones.

"Well," said Molly as she gave herself a slight shake. "It's not how I imagined you would all marry, but I suppose there is nothing we can do. Best tell me your matches then. Percy, why don't you go first?"

"Penelope Clearwater," he mumbled softly, his cheeks flushing a vivid pink as his mother gave him an approving smile.

"Lovely dear. You've always spoken so highly of her," said Molly, a hint of pride thickening her words. Percy, at least, would be with someone he truly cared for. Still smiling, Molly turned to Ron. "And you, Ron?"

"Luna..." he muttered, a light frown marring his features as he crushed the letter and dropped it onto the table. Molly nodded and turned to Harry who was smiling, green eyes bright with unspoken joy.

"Ginny," he whispered. The girl in question immediately leapt up and threw her freckled arms around Harry, knocking his hastily taped glasses aside in the process. Percy chuckled and gave Harry a quick, congratulatory pat on the back.

"Oh Harry. A part of the family, not that I didn't think of you as a son already, but oh!" gushed Molly, tears filling her eyes. After a few seconds of hasty sniffling and ruffled handkerchiefs Molly turned her gaze to George. "Well, who did you get dear?"

"He got me," whispered Hermione sadly, her eyes flicking to the look of utter shock plastered on his face. Nobody moved and even the wind fell silent as Hermione let out broken sob and raced from the room.

"George! Really now! The poor girl," admonished Molly as she plucked his letter from his fingers. A soft cry was heard as she too fled from the room, the letter spiralling harmlessly to the floor. And that's when everyone saw the words written in a dainty hand: _Fred Weasley & Angelina Johnson_.


End file.
